Stephen Todd: The Demon Teacher of Serenity Lane
by SkeletonQueen666
Summary: Benjamin Blake was living an ideal life with his beautiful wife, Lauralie. But what happens when his new teaching job takes a terrifying turn?
1. Chapter 1: Perfection

**Stephen Todd: The Demon Teacher of Serenity Lane**

It was a dark and stormy night. The the lightning clashed, the thunder boomed and the wind's ghostly howl soon joined the evening's sinister chorus, its force causing the dark branches of the willow trees nearby to sway manically, like an assassi proudly brandishing a hand-crafted weapon. It is on this night - this night of a thousand sorrows - that or story begins, at 666 Serenity Lane.

It is here that we first meet Benjamin Blake, a sweet and sincere soul. He is pale, with slightly shaggy yet strangely attractive jet-black hair, with sun-kissed skin and warm onyx eyes. He is sitting at an old, faded mahogany desk. He seems troubled.

His troubles started exactly five years ago, when he was first enrolled at St. Marianna's Private School. He had just finished at St. David's Private school in Wales, after his father, Hugh, a barber, had decided to move the family to England. He had been excited about starting at St. Marianna's, as he had always dreamed of life in the big city. Back then, he was a bubbly twelve-year-old boy full of dreams and aspirations to be a teacher. Now, he was merely an empty shell of the past. A ghost, a spirit: present, yet somehow unseen.

He had been sitting at that desk for appriximately fifteen minutes, trying desperately to focus on his English essay. The class had been asked to review a play or movie they found particularly interesting, set in the Victorian times. Benjamin had, without hesitation, chosen to review Sweeney Todd: The Dmon Barber of Fleet Street, which he viewed as a masterpiece. He and his best friend, Eleanor Lime, were both absolutely obsessed with Sondheim's work of art, although they thought Tim Burton's version was just the tiniest bit better because of the graphics and the gore.

Eleanor Lime was the first person to truly accept him at his new school. Upon starting, he had instantly been outcasted. They were all jealous of him - his perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect smile and sweet nature - and so, he was forced to eat alone on his very first day. It was then that he noticed the mysterious dark-eyed redhead. An older student - a sixth-former most probably - had her pressed against the wall. She was trying to squirm out of his touch. His hands were all over her, groping her. She cried out, but nobody came to her rescue. His lips ran along her neck as his hands slid down her body. Instinctively, Ben had ran to her aid, giving the young man who groped her a black eye.

This had earned all three of them a trip to Headmaster Gaw's office, but none of them cared. Especially not Eleanor, because she was saved, and she finally had a friend!  
From that moment on, the two had become practically inseperable.

He thought of her now as he scribbled his name at the bottom of his essay. She would love to read this.

_Perhaps I'll take it in for her to read tomorrow, _he thought to himself. Poor Eleaor, she'd gone through scuh a hard time lately, what with her parent's divorce and everything. She was such a sweet girl, but not as sweet as his dear Lauralie.

Ahhh Lauralie: his sweet, beautiful angel. More radiant than the sun, more beautiful than Aphrodite herself. He and the lovely Lauralie had met when they were partnered together on a chemistry project, and chemistry soon bubbled up between them. Eleanor had tried to warn him off. Lauralie was the 'Queen Bee' of St. Marianna's Private Academy and it was easy to see why. All the girls feared or envied her. All the guys worshipped the ground she walked upon. Lauralie Elisabeth Windsor was a teenage model, a celebrity of sorts. Everybody knew who she was, as her face was spread across every magazine in Britain. Never had he dreamed that she would be his sweetheart. Oh and what a sweetheart she was. Oh, and how very gorgeous she was, with her shimmering honeycomb toussles and wide innocent baby blue eyes. So beautiful, so breathtaking, so very virtuous. She was quite possibly the only sixteen year old girl never to have gotten drunk or lost her virginity. Even after dating for three years, she and Benjamin had agreed to wait (under Eleanor's advice). Eleanor had remained an essential part of his life, but he noticed that whenever he mentioned his angel, Lauralie, she tensed up.

Two years went by. Benjamin and Lauralie had grown even closer. Benjamin had earned the spot of Head Boy, and Eleanor had become Head Girl. By now, Benjamin was quite possibly the most admired boy at St. Marianna's. The sixth former - Victor Thyme - had graduated now, and had gone on to St. Eden's University.

Graduation day had finally come for the class of 1982, and everyone was ecstatic. Especially Benjamn. For it was on this, the most joyous of days, he had planned to propose engagement to his beautiful Lauralie Elisabeth.

The ceremony was a blur, a total blur. It was only when Benjamin and Eleanor were called up to the stage that Benjamin snapped out of his trance-like state. He could vaguely feel Eleanor linking her arm with his, just about hear her excited chatterin as they ascended the four steps to the small wooden stage.

"Congratulations, cllass of 84!" Eleanor was giving the Head Girl speech. Everybody listened with wrapped attention, for they knew that all she was saying was true. "WE DID IT!"

Cheers erupted from the crowd as confetti was thrown and balloons were released - red, white and blue, the colours of the school.

Benjamin held up his hands, halting the celebrations. He took in a shaky breath, stepping orward.

"Ummm...I-I would like to call to the stage, my beautiful angel, miss Lauralie Elisabeth Windsor."  
Whispers of confusion and anticipation spread like a wild fire as Lauralie daintily stepped up onto the stage, standing next to Benjamin. Eleanor gritted her teeth, watching with great confusion and irritation as all eyes turnned to Ben and Laura.

"Lauralie, from the moment I set eyes on you, I knew we were destined to be together," his tone was soft and gentle, but the words sliced through Eleanor like a shimmering silver blade. "And I would like to spend the rest of my life with you. I know I'm not rich or anything like that, but I love you, and I want to make you happy."  
Lauralie semed stunned. The room was so silent, you could have heard a pin drop.

"Lauralie Elisabeth Windsor, would you do me the great honour of taking me, Benjamin Blake, as your husband?"

Five years had passed since that fateful graduation day when that glistening diamond engagement ring had been slid onto Lauralie's dainty, thin middle finger. The two were now happily wed, leading a seemingly idealic life. They had been married for four years. Benjamin had now finished college at age 22, and Lauralie had given birth to a beautiful baby girl. Belladonna, they had named her. Sweet little Belladonna. She looked like her mother, with short whispy golden hair and thoe big bue eyes you could just drown in.

It was a warm September evening. Lauralie sat in a rocking chair, humming a tune to herself as she knitted Belladonna a pink wooly jacket, knowing she would need it for when the winter came.

"Lauralie! Lauralie!"  
It was Benjamin, bursting through the glossy wooden doors of the small apartmet they rented. They had rented the houe above Eleanor's famous bakery. She had become a great success, almost as successful as Gregg's if that was even possible. She had allowed them to rent the house for only £10 a week, since she knew the couple well. They were very close, always eating dinner together and having movie nights.

"Lauralie, Lauralieeeee!"  
He was really excited. He raced to her side, breathless and flung his muscular arms around her slender frame. This took her by surprise, but she embraced him back anyway.

"Benny, what is it?" her voice was soft and confused.

"Lauralie, darling, I got a job, a TEACHING job!"  
Anybody who knew Benjamin knew that being a teacher had been his dream ever since he was a little boy. As soon as he was old enough to think, he knew he wanted to teach. Now he had done it, he had gotten a teaching job at St. Marianna's! But alas, his perfect life was simply not meant to be. For nothing is so good it lasts eternally.


	2. Chapter 2: Setting the Trap

_I dedicate this story to my dear friend Emma from Shelfari, who is just as obsessed with Sweeney Todd as I am!_

The atmosphere was absolutely electric, just as he remembered, just as he imagined it would be. Everything seemed so surreal, yet so clear. It was just as he thought it would be. As he pushed open the glossy double doors, he felt his heart leap into his chest. He inhaled the familiar smells of the hallway: belches, perfume and persperation. Ahhh, the familiar smells of a comprehensive school. How he had missed St. Marianna's. If only he knew that a deadly turn of events was soon to come.

Lauralie trailed behind him, cradling the baby Belladonna in her arms. Belladonna whimpered softly and burbled happy nonsence to her mother, who simply smiled. Lauralie had insisted on coming along to see his office.

"Benjamin Blake."  
The familiar voice sliced through him like a dagger. He turned slowly, to see none other than the infamous Victor Thyme standing before him. Ahhh, Victoor, the bane of his high school existence, the reason why Eleanor was afraid to go anywhere without him, and Lauralie's ex-boyfriend.

"Victor!" Lauralie spoke before he could. "What are you doing here?"  
She seemed frightened, ice-blue eyes growing wide.

"ren't you glad to see me, my darling Lauralie?" his lips curved upwards into a sadistic smile, a smile that made Benjami's blood boil.

"My darling Lauralie, I am the Heasmaster of this fine establishment!"  
And so, the first link in a chain of deadly events was put in place, and Benjamin's life was to change forever...

Already, a vicious scheme was falling into place, and this was the first piece of Victor's sadistic jigsaw puzzle. A plan had already formed in his mind, a plan that was executed perfectly.


	3. Chapter 3: There's been a Murder

Note: I do not own Sweeney Todd. I do, however, own Benjamin Blake and Eleanor Lime. this is my first story, so please review. Constructive criticism as well as praise is much appreciated. And now, my dear readers, we shall continue...

Six joyous months had passed. Benjami had settled nicely into his teaching job, despite the man he was forced to work for. He was a well-respected English teacher, one that all the girls seemed to have a crush on. But unlike Victor, Ben was no perert. He only had eyes for his beautiful Lauralie.

How unaware he was that Eleanor had eyes for him. How unaware he was that every time he and Lauralie kissed, every 'I love you' they murmured, shattered her fragile heart. She loved him like no other, and she knew something that nobody else knew, something that killed her inside...

It was a sunny June morning, Tuesday to be exact. Lauralie sat in her rocking chair, an eight-month-old Belladonnna babbling away on her knee as they rocked slowly back and forth.

"I'm of to work, darling!" Benjamin called to his wife as he slung on his black jacket, smooting down his suit and walking over to her. He planted a soft kiss upon his cheek, causing a blush to creep across the porcelain face of his angel. Then, he departed. If only he knew what was in store for him on this seemingly normal day...

He did not, but somebody else did.

"THERE'S BEEN A MURDER!"

The school was buing with a mixture of worry and excitement when he arrived. He had absolutely no idea what was going on, for when he arrivd it took him almost an hour to get through. The place was swarming with police cars.

"What's going on?" he asked, approaching a razled female student with frizzy dark brown hair by the name of Georgina DiLone.

"It's Angel, it's Angel, she's dead!"

Georgina and Angel were practically inseperable. Georgina was one of his best students, but ngel was quite the opposite. She was a very provocative fifteen year old girl, defying the rules by making slutty alterations to her school uniform.

"Are you Benjamin Blake?" a gruff voice called from behind him. He turned, only to come face-to-face with a rather stout, plump police officer. He looked incredibly intimidating, looming over Benjamin in a very imposig manner.

"Yes, Sir."  
"Benjamin Blake, you're under arrest for the murder of Angelica Anderson. You don't have to say anything, but anything you do say can and may be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?"  
Before he had a chance to properly comprehend what was going on, he was siezed. He tried to protest, tried to fight, but it was no use. The trap was set, and he had unknowingly walked right into it.


	4. Chapter 4: The Holding Cell

SLAM!

The steel bars swung sideways, and then he was trapped. Trapped in a small cell, a holding cell he believed it was called,, though he was not sure. He slumped down the cold wall, looking around him. He was in a dull and dreary room, with light grey walls and one small window. Two police officers stood outside the cell, eyes fixated on him. Uneasily, he returned their glance.

"Sir..." finally, after what seemed like an eternity of stiff silence, Benjamin found the courage to speak, "Surely you don't believe I could have comitted such an act. I don't even know what happened and - "  
"We have a witness," the officer stated simply. "AND, the body was found in your classroom. Your black gloves were found at the scene, spattered in blood, and the fiure on the CCTV screen was wearing your black jacket. Could you explain that, Mr Blake?"  
"I-I don't know!" he stamered desperately. "I-I..."  
"BEN!"

A frantic Eleanor Lime charged desperately into the room, shoving the two officrs aside. She raced to her secret love's cell, tugging on the bars to no avail. She reached for his hand, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Ben, what happened?"  
"Where's Lauralie? Is she all right?"  
No answer.

"WHERE'S LAURALIE?"

Eleanor was slightly taken aback at this, and very hurt indeed. She had come all this way, intending to pay his bail, and all he could care about was his precious little Lauralie.

"She couldn't come," she stated simply, releasing his hand as she tried to hide the hurt in her eyes. "She needed to stay with Beladonna."  
"Belladonna?" the first police officer, the tubby one that had arrested him, joined the conversation, unwelcomed.  
"My daughter," Benjami hissed in a low growl, fiercely fighting back the tears. He couldn't be charged with murder! He was Benjamin Blake, an upstanding member of society! If this got out, poor Lauralie's reputation would be shattered. His Belladonna would grow up branded the daughter of a murderer. No, this couldn't happen! Who would lie like that? Who would do such a cruel and twisted thing? Who could hate him that much? As far as he knew, he had no enemies. Or did he?


	5. Chapter 5: Judge and Jury

The trail date was set and all were ready. Reporters from all over the world had picked up on this story, and the name Benjamin Blake had been spread far and wide. Poor Lauralie had become somewhat of a prisoner in her own home, terrified of leaving the house should she be ambushed by reporters.

Benjamin was kept in a small cell, being fed only twice a day. The meals were horrible, and he was allowed only one sitor a week. The visitor was always the same person. Eleanor, bringing decent food and news of Belladonna's growth, always trying to perk him up, always failing.

Finaly, the big day arrived.

October 1, 1990.

The atmosphere was absolutely electric. The grand courthouse was swarming with reporters and cameramen galore. It was like a circus, and Benjamin Blake the main attraction. He felt like some sort of animal with everybody staring at him as he was dragged roughly into the Courthouse. His lawyer was Andrew Jones, a rather timid looking young man with a slight stutter, though he was supposedly one of the best in the country. Eleanor had insisted on paying for his hire, despite his protests.

"The jury calls the witness to the stand."  
It was as if time itself was standing still, or at least going in slow motion. Benjamin was frozen in shock, eyes growing as wide as saucers. He could hardly believe his eyes, could hardly believe what he was seeing. Victor Jonathan Thyme was the witness he had so dreaded.

"Thank you, your honour!" Victor's voice was clear and confident.

"What is it exactly that you saw?" came a soft voice from the corner. Victor smirked, pointing to Benjamin.

"I knocked on his door, I needed to get some papers," he lied with such ease, it was almost scary. "The door was locked. I knocked again but no answer came. Then I heard a scream, so I looked throug the keyhole. And...and then I asw it..."

His voice started to tremble.

"Saw...what?"

"I saw Benjamin Blake with an axe in his hand, beating that poor girl to death! Oh, it was horrible, your honour! If only you could have seen it! It was dreadful! Poor Angelica! Poor, poor Angelica."

Everything was happening so slowly, it was agonizing. Victor gave most of the statements, and it all worked in his favour. Eleanor tried to protest that I was with her at the time of the murder,ut I wasn't. The truth is, I was at school and I did hae an appointment with Angel, but that was only to talk about her grades! She had failed to turn up, so I had left.

I tried to hope for the best, to stay positive. I tried to tell myself that everything would be all right. I tried to have faith in the Lord above, praying that he would not and could not send an innocent man to jail. But deep down I knew it was hopeless, deep in my heart I know I was doomed.


	6. Chapter 6: Injustice

The words agonizing torture did not even begin to describe the mental torment Benjamin was put through while he anxiously awaited the jury's verdict. Anybody who has been put on trile, for charges big or small, will know how this feels. But this was not some petty parking ticket case, or even a case like vandalism or burglary. Oh no. This was a murder trial, a trial for murder, and Benjamin knew that the vicious Victor Thyme was out for blood.

He knew what Victor hoped would become of this. He wanted to eliminate the competition. You see he hadn't exactly attempted to hide the obvious fact that he possessed a strong lustful desire for Benjamin's beautiful wife, Lauralie. But would Lauralie sucumb to his advances? He hoped she wouldn't. He liked to think that she would be strong. But the poor thing was never strong. True, she was a very morally upright woman, but she relied on Benjamin to help her. She fluttered helplessly like a wounded bird whenever a problem arised waiting for a big strong man to come and help her. Benjamin had always been that big strong man. What would she do if he were to be found guilty? She would be all alone, so very alone. So vulnerable and helpless. And she would fall: so young, so soft and oh, so very beautiful. How could he hae been so naive? He scolded himself now for this. Did he reall think that Victor would just accept the fact that Lauralie could never be his and move on? Of course not! They'd almost had him booked for stalking charges last year for taking photographs of her through the bedroom window! How could he have not seen this coming?

He had failed.

He had failed to protect her.

Now, they would both pay.

"Benjamin Blake," the judge's voice was cruel and harsh. All eyes were fixated on him, many of those eyes showing disgust. Lauralie's eyes were fixed on the floor. Victor's dark eyes bore straight into his. Benjamin waited silent, teeth clenched together.

Had his prayers been answered?

No.

If you were expecting the answer to be 'yes', this is not the story for you. It is clear that you are absolutely obsessed with happily-ever-afters, carriages, princes and fair maidens in distress. If you wanted the answer to be a yes, I suggest you stop reading now, for this story is about to take a terrifying turn in the form of one word, one cruel word.

"GUILTY."


	7. Chapter 7: Guilty as Charged

Guilty.

GUILTY.

Benjamin Blake had been found guilty.

Murder,

MURDER.

Benjamin Blake had been found guilty of murder.

"Benjamin Blake, the jury finds you guilty of first degree murder."  
He was trembling now, trying not to cry.

"The Judge will now pass sentence. All rise."  
He shakiy rose to his feet. Eleanor rose slowly, dark eyes locking with his, as if making a silent promise. A promise to take care of Lauralie, a promise to protect Belladonna, a promise she did not intend to break.

"Benjamin Blake, I sentence you to fifty years hard labour in Australia.

Fifty years?  
Fifty years away from his beloved wife?  
Fifty years withou seeing Lauralie?  
Fifty years, sweating in a living hell, unable to see his beautiful infant daughter blossom from a mere infat into a gorgeous young woman?

On that day, a monstrous perversion of justice had taken place.

Two days later, Benjamin was shipped off to Australia. He could only pack pyjamas, as he would be provided with a uniform when he arrived. As he looked out over the docks, a great longing gripped his heart. A longing to escape this nightmare that he could barely believe had become his reality.

"Don't go," it was Eleanor, tears streaming down her flushed, rosy cheeks. She gripped his waist, tightly, as if trying to protect hiim, as if trying to shield him from the officers. But they both knew what was coming.

Lauralie stood a few paces back, shimmering golden locks billowing out behind her in the wind, a melancholy expression plastered across the blank canvas that was her blemishless face. She watched, helpless, as right before her eyes, her husband was carried away.

Benjamin Blake was no more.


	8. Chapter 8: I have Sailed the World

Time dragged on, deliberately slowing down in order to fully punish Benjamin for his naivity. And oh, how he was punished. The things they made him do, the sights they made him see. As time passed, things changed. He changed. The sweet, innocent Benjamin Blake was fading, and a new man was taking over. This man was stronger, more experienced, more aware of the world. Timid Benjamin, the hopeful teacher, could not cope in this enviroment, but one man could, and that man was determined to escape...

His name?

"Mr Todd? Mr Todd?" It was Andrew Hope, an explorer, calling his name. Mr. Stephen Todd, skin almost as white as snow and jet-black hair wild and messy, turned to the young man. It had been Andrew Hope that had found him. Had it not ben for Andrew, he'd be lost on the ocean still. After fifteen years of agony, he had finally managed to escape.

He looked now at Andrew, deep, sunken onyx eye boring into the boy's soft green ones. I say boy, I mean man. Well, young man. Andrew was only 20, while Stephen was 40. Forty years of age, and very practised in the ways of the world.

"I cann see Lonndon from here, Mr Todd!" the man's voice was filled with excitement. Oh, how naive he was, so naive, it was almost sickening. And that smile! How could he smile when he was sailing toward the cruelest place on earth?  
Andrew's parents, Anthony and Johanna Hope, were explorers. They had raised Andrew at sea, where they had sailed the world and seen its wolders, from the pearls of Spain to the rubies of Tibet. But there was definitely, without a doubt, no place lile London. They were on their way to London when it happenend. Their bote, the Bountiful, had crashed into an iceburg and sunk. Andrew was the only survivor. It had been on his way to London in a liferaft when he had spotted the strange pale man, victim to the ocean's merciless current. Andrew had rescued the man at once, who had then thanked him and introduced himsel a Stephen. Together, they sailed in the life boat until a cruise ship spotted them, taking them aboard.

"Isn't it beautiful, Mr Todd?"

"Beautiful, yes..." his voice was far away, as he was in na trance-like state. "But also doomed.

"Mr Todd?"  
"Hm."

"What do you mean?"  
"You're not the only man to have sailed the world and seen its wonders," Stephens voice was low and gruff. "For the cruelty of men is as wondrous as Peru. But there is definitely no place like London, where those above make a mockery of those below, turning beauty into filth. No. There's no place like London."

It was fifteen minutes later when the boat pulled in. Andrew scrambled to get off-board, eager to soak up the city and see all the 'wonderful' sights it had to offer.

"P-Please, Sir?"

It was a woman's voice, raspy and weak, trembling, yet with a rough and street-wise edge. Scowling irritatedly, Stephen whirled around. He then came face to face with a strange-looking woman of the streets. Her brown dress was torn and tattered, her hair was stark white. Her tanned skin was as wrinkled as a prune. A high brown hat covered her eyes, though they looked sort of blue. Her voice was shrill and high-pitched, comparable to that of a high soprano with a sore throat. He glared at her, slumped over, back arched. But Andrew took pity on her, placig five pounds in her trembling hand. She let out a soft whimper at his touch, quickly puling away.

"Ooo, thank you, Sir!" she then turned to Stephen, rushing towards him and gripping his shoulders.

"How about I make some money over you then, Sir? Hmmm... her tone was seductive now. "Wouldn't you like to - ?"  
"GET LOST!" he shoved her backwards with extreme force. He knew exactly what she was implying and he was absolutely NOT interested. No. He was only interested in one person and one person alone, a person he simplly had to find.

"Pardon me, Mr Todd, but there's no need to fear her," Andrew chuckled softly. "She's only a crazy old beggar woman.

"Sorry..." Stephen muttered gruffly. "Forgive me, my mind is elsewhere."

"There's nothing to forgive, my friend!" Andrew assured warmly, just as Stephen turned and began to walk away.

"Now leave me Andrew. There is something I must find out, alone."  
"Will I see you again?" Andrew called after him.

"You may find me if you like, around Serenity Lane."  
And with that, he was gone.


	9. Chapter 9: Reunion

It was a foggy Friday evening, silver mist engulfing the city of London like a lion devouring its prey. There were no stars, no moon to light his way, yet he knew his way from memory. He remembered the route perfectly, even after all this time. All these years of faded memories and half-memorized conversations, but this was the most important of all. This was the one thing he had forced himself to remember. The route to Eleanor Lime's world-amous bakery.

But when he arrived, he stopped short. This couldn't be the place, surely. When he had left, Eleanor's business was booming. Now, the sign was cracked and faded. The door was rickety, and it seemed as though the place were completely deserted. He hesiated for a moment, taking a deep and shaky breath before pushing on the door. The heavy door swung open with a haunting creak, the small silver bell tinkling melodiously.

A middle-aged woman with skin as white as snow and hair as wild and red as a raging fire stared up at him, wide, suken eyes dull yet excited.

"A CUSTOMER!"

She was very excited now, rushing to his side and pulling him into a chair.

"Afternoon - emmm...evening - Sir! What can I get you?"  
"Eleanor?"

It just slipped out.

He covered his mouth, cursing his impulse. She fixed him with a questioning glance, her eyes then growing wide as she looked at him, really looked at him.

She knew those eyes, those unforgettable onyx eyes. She knew those lips, those lips she had dreamed so many a time of kissing. She knew this man.

"Ben?"  
He nodded, slowly. She let out a startled gasp, then enveloped him in what was quite possibly the tightest hug in the history of hugs. Seriously, it was Guiness World Record Book worthy, as was this moment.

"You've so changed!" she breathed in awe, studying his features. "What did they do to you down there in bloody Australia or whatever?"  
"Where's Lauralie?"

The words came out a choked whisper. Eleanor drew back, face paling even more if that was possible. She bit down on her pouty lower lip, eyes dark with worry

"Oh, love..."  
"Where is she?" he growled gruffly, gripping her firmly by the shoulders. He was once again surprised at his impulsive, and somewhat mad, behaviour, but that did not prompt him enough to release her. Oh no. He needed answers.

"She poisoned herself..."

"WHAT?

What?  
How?  
When?  
Where  
WHAT?

"She...she drank cleaning liquid..."

What?  
How?  
When  
Where?  
WHAT?

"I tried to stop her! Really, I did, I did! But...she wouldn't listenn to me, and...and - "  
A strange feeling overwhelmed him. Anger. He raised a hand to slap her, but quickly decided against it. He gritted his teeth, glaring at her. He could see how scared she was, how terrified he was. Some part of him ached to wrap her in a comforting embrace and tell her that he did not blame her, while another part of him wanted to rip her head off, right then and there.

"Fifteen years..." he snarled dangerously. "Fifteen years sweating in a living hell on a trumped-up charge, dreaming o the day whe my Lauralie would welcome me home with open arms, and you tell me THIS!"

"Well what do you want me to do? Lie?"  
He stopped, breathing havily.

"There was nothing I could do! I tried to stop her! I told her she was being ridiculous! BUt she wouldn't listen to me!"

A long silence hung uneasily in the air.

Neither spoke,

neither moved,

neither even dared to breathe.

It was though time itsel had stopped still.

Finally, the man broke the silence.

"What happened? What happened to my beautiful Lauralie? And where is my Belladonna?"


	10. Chapter 10: Lauralie

The two sat opposite each other in Eleanor's sitting room, the only sound the crackling fire. Benjamin - who from this point on shall be called Stephen, or else - waited impatiently, staring straight at her. She returned his gaze, hers sad and sullen, as she recounted the tragic tale.

"He never stopped..."

_iT WAS Victor, returning once more with a single red rose. Lauralie watched from her window, retreating back into the darkness. Eleanor opened the door, ripped the rose from his hand and slammed the door in his face._

"He kept persuing her."

_Her meaning Lauralie._

"but she rejected him. Every day he would ccome, red-rose in hand, holding out a sparkling diamond engagement ring. Every day he was sent away."

"What happened?" Stephen questioned sadly, voice cracking ever so slightly.

_It was a dark night, mid-October, seven months after Benjamin Blake had been imprisoned. The doorbell rang. Eleanor had rushed to answer it, only to see Alister Hinezburg standing in the doorwa. Allister was Victor's right-hand man, a fat fellow with crooked yellow teeth and a Dumbledore-style beard that considered himself quite a hit with the ladies. Lauralie had descended the staircase, holding a sobbing Belladonna in her arms._

"What did he want?"

_"It's Victor!" he had cried. "He feels guilty about all the trouble he has caused you. It must be terrible for you dear, knowing that your husband is a murderer."  
He had flashed Lauralie a wicked smile, winking to her as though she knew something..._

Eleanor quite wisely left that part out.

_"Victor would like to invite you to dinner, my dear."  
_

"I protested," Eleanor continued, dazed. "But she was ademant. I knew it was hopeless arguing with her...when she returned, she was a state. Her clothes were ripped, her face was flushed, and the poor girl was sobbing.

He knew what that meant.

"GOD! NO!" he realized aloud, the horrifying image clouding his thoughts. "Would no-one have mercy on my darling Lauralie?"  
Eleanor had a funny look in her eyes then, as she spoke the next part. "And he's got your daughter..."  
"He?" Stephen screamed furiously. "VICTOR?"  
"i put up a fight, but Alister knocked me out cold. But I suppose even he had a conscience tucked away somewhere. He took her in, adopted her like his own."

"That's it," he breathed heavily, eyes glazed over. "That is IT! Let them quake in their boots, Alister and Victor, for their hour has come..."  
Eleanor stood beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You're goingn to...to get them?" she whispered breathily, recieving a dark nod in response. Her lips pursed slightly, she didn't quite know how to react to this, but she knew that whatever happened from now forwards, they were in this together.

He could see it, too. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her tone. He knew that whatever he went through, she would stand loyally at his side. He knew that their unspoken agreement, their truce of silent trust formed in the courtroom, still stood as solidly as the Great Wall of China. Little did they both know what terror was to come, for them, Victor, and the city of London.

"So what are you gonna do now?" her voice was soft and gentle, not as gentle and delicat as that of his Lauralie, but still strangely soothing.

"I don't know."  
"Well, do you have any money?"  
"No money."  
"Then how are you gonna live, hmmm Let alone get to Victor?"  
"He's just a Headmaster."  
"WRong," Eleanor shook her head. "They've promoted him. He's head of the Board of education now."  
"I don't care."  
"Listen too me, you great useless lump!" Eleanor shook him firmly, putting him in his place. "How. are. you. going. to. live?"

she repeated her question slowly, blankly, with a slightly condescending tone. She spoke to him then in the same manner you would a small child, or a mentally disabled adult.

"On the streets," he stated simply, starting on his way out.

"OH NO YOU DON'T!"

She gripped his waist tightly, ignoring the tingling, pleasant sensation being so close to him brought. "You're not going anywhere, especially not the streets! You can live here."  
"I don't have any money," he reminded her.

"Who cares? You're my best friend, for crying out loud! You did so much for me, now let me do something for you."  
"I don't - "  
"Then it's settled, come on!"  
Ignoring his protests, she gripped his arm firmly and lead him up the creaky wooden staircase that stood before them, pushing open a small white door. That door, the doorway to his past, the window to his soul, the place of his fondest memories...


	11. Chapter 11: Will You Help Me?

For just a single second, his heart stopped functioning. Then its function returned, beating incredibly and unusually fast for a few moments before slowing down to a semi-norml rhythm. All this n the space of a mere five seconds, the time it took for Eleanor to push open the small wooden door that lead to the upper-floor house that he and his beloved wife used to rent, in the days before Victor had put an end to his idealic lifestyle by forcing his wife into infidelity and kidnapping his daughter.

The room was almost exactly how he remembered it. The same black curtains, the same green carpet, the same crimson walls. Yet it was different. The curtainsn were faded. Inside Belladonna's crib, the teddy-bear he had bought for her two days before that fateful day - the day that he had been siezed - was nearly falling apart. The paint's colour was fading too, yet it had become darker, now a blood red.

"Come in, love," Eleanor's soothing tone of voice snapped him instanty out of his trance-like state. His body tensed, but her gentle touch relaxed him as he was ushered into the room. Eerily, a non-existent gust of wind caused the door to slam behind them, with no physical prompting from either he or Eleanor.

He gazed around him, drinking i every little detail, treasuring every little moment as though it would be his last.

"So, Ben, what are you - "  
"No!" he turned on her once more.

On her, not to her.

"That man is dead, do you understand me? Dead. It's Todd now, Stephen Todd, and he will have his revenge.

"Well...that's nice!" she chirped cheerily, forcing her usual happy, innocent smile to come.  
"Will you help me?"

That question caught her off-guard.

Would she help him?  
Could she help him?  
Lauralie wouldn't have helped him.

He knew that, and she knew that he knew that.

Lauralie was too girlie for what the newly born Stephen Todd had in mind.

"Yes," her voice was dark and determined, fiece yet feminine. "I will."

A sinister smile crossed the blank canvas that was his deathly pale face as he held out a bony, rigid hand to his ex-best friend. She held out her own tiny hand, pale as paper, white as white could be, and slid her fingers through his. Their fingers intertwined, their souls intertwined. This gesture, this simple gesture, symbolized the birth of a twisted partnership. Partners-In-Crime.


	12. Chapter 12: Ah, Miss

What was supposed to have been a summer's afternoon - dead in the middle of June, the 15th to be exact - had once again turned out dull and dreary, a harsh wind blowing back the slightly long brown hair of Andrew Hope. While exploring the big city, he had found himself lost once again. This wa the fifth time this week, though this time he had been lost for two hours.

He had wandered into some sort of neigbourhood, gated and prestigious he had guessed by the sie of the houses. He let out a deep sigh of irritation, kicking a large grey pebble as he made his way over to a small wooden bench. The bench was still damp from last night's heavy downpour, but he sat on it anyway. He just took his jacket off and sat on that, so that he did not get wet. He pulled a faded piece of paper from one of his may trouser pockets, a map of London he had purchassed from a strange man in a bookstore the previous Friday, the day he had arrived with Mr. Todd.

He found his mind wandering to Mr Todd. How was he doing? Perhaps, when he found his way, he should pay him a visit, just to say hello and check up on the man. As far as he knew, Mr Todd knew nobody in and nothing of this strange city, neither did he. Yet he spoke of it with such dark familiarity, he began to wonder.

Realizing finally that he had been holding the map upside down the whole time, he silently cursed himself.

_What' wrong with you, Andrew? _he wondered, mentally kicking himself hard in the head for his own stupidity. _Get a hold of - _

He stopped dead in his tracks.

A glorious sound filled his ears, a high soprano voice. It was sort of how he had always imagined a lark or a nightingale would sound, if ever he should hear one. He looked up, but he saw no bird. He quickly shoved the map back into his pocket and craned his neck, squinting his eyes. He was about to give up when the noise grew louder. Only then did he realize that it was no bird making that beautiful sound, it had to be a woman.

He listened carefully, tracing the source of the sound to a hige Gothic mansion. The mansion was made of stone, towering far above him with a chocolate door. Black, red and white roses overgrew the back garden, along with many thorns and brambles. The houe was securely shielded by a spiked fence and a set of black wrought0iron gates, sealed with a rusted old padlock. Curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself peering into every window in the house.

He counted them.

Fifty.

Therer were fifty window, and in one of them, the fourth window on the second floor, sat the most bautiful girl he had ever seen. Her skin wa as white as snow, her eyes as blue as the sky above. Her luscious lips were a rich ruby red,ut not by lipstick. She looked like something straight out of the Victorian era, with her long, hip-length honeycomb locks, half of them tied in a plaited pony-tail, two plaits hanging down the side of her head. She wore an exquisite pearl necklace, shimmering as it caught the sun's light. He could just about make out a birdcage next to her, one of those posh ones that only rich peope could afford.

He crept closer, trying to get a better look.

She was still singing, but he had not yet noticed him. He tutted silently: she was all the way up there, how could she get him to look down here?  
_Lady, look at me, look at me,_

_Miss, oh look at me!  
Please!  
Oh, favour me, favour me with your glance._

_Ah, miss,_

_What do you see up there on those trees?  
Oh won't you give, won't you give me a chance?_

He found himself absent-midedly waving his arm, trying to beckon her eyes in his direction but to no avail. The mysterious lady - actually a young woman - did not look his way.

Although he could not see it, she wore a long peech gown. The gown was trimmed with lace at the top, a round-neck that scooped just above her enormous breasts. The bodace was tight, while the skirt puffed out. The sleeves were long and lacy, and the dress was covered in bows. She loved bows, she loved lace, she loved frills. Her guardian insisted upon her being clad in only the finest of materials. Nothing but the best would do for his "darling child."

But who was this girl?

he made his way towards the nearest tree, scaling it with great skill. By jumping from branch to branch, swinging like Tarzan, he found himself able to jump onto her window ledge. He tapped three times on her window, flashing him a small, sad smile.

Why was she so sad?

He tried to ask her, but she did not open her window. Something had startled her, as she quickly drew her curtains and retreated back into the darkness of her enormous bedroom.

Andrew let out a small sigh, a huge grin creeping across his face as he fell from the tree, landing just outside the huge fence.

"Sir?"  
He looked up, stunned. It was the old Beggar woman, the one that had made advances towards Mr. Todd. She was offering her grubby hand in a kind gesture, trying to help him up. He accepted, his hand bleeding from the fall. She hauled him up, looking at him. Just as Mr Todd had thought, her eyes were a clear crystal blue.

"Thank you," his voice was kind and gentle. She nodded, snorting a little and turned to leave. On a whim, an impule, he quickly caught her by the shoulders and spun her to face him.

"One moment, ma'am. Do you know who's houe this is?"  
"Ahhh..." her face looked like it was contorting in pain. "That's the great Victor Thyme's house, that is."  
"And the young lady who resides there?"  
The lady's face twisted up into a very odd facial expression as she murmured her response.

"Ahhh, her. That's...that' Belladonna, his pretty little ward. Keeps her snug, he does, all locked up. So don't even think about trespassing there, young man. Victor doesn't take too kindly to young visitors with michief on their minds..."  
before he could press her for any further information she was off, scampering across the road like a wounded deer. His thoughts were so fixated upon the mysterious Belladonna, he did not hear the door ope. Nor did he see the middle-aged man approach him. Not until he felt a set of eyes watching him did he turn to see the man.

He wa a tall man, largely built and very imposing. He had tanned skin and black hair that was quickly greying. His nose was slightly hooked, and his white teeth ever so slightly crooked. He had only a few wrinkles, but those he had were extremely prominant. His eyes were a deep chocolate brown, yet they seemed somehow cold, sinister.

"Come in lad, come in."


	13. Chapter 13: A Guardian, But Not an Angel

"Come in lad, come in."

The old man's voice was slightly raspy, yet smooth as silk. It sliced through the air like a dagger, yet it was soothing and dream-like. It had a rough edge, like a smooth chocolate cake with a hard coating o icing to top it off.

Andrew froze. Should he approach the man? he didn't seem threatening, just...eerie. Definitely eerie, there was no doubt about that. How had the man even heard him? Perhaps he had seen his shadow in the window, or heard the manic laughter of that crazy old Beggar woman.

He didn't know.

The man was beckoning him forward, a small smile playing on his wrinkled face.

What was he going to do?

Surely, it would be rude to walk away now. Besides, this may be the only chance he would ever have of meeting the love of his life!

Wait, can she be the love of my life? he found himself feeling a little foolish now. You've never even met her, Andrew! he scolded in thought.

But that could change if you stop being such a chicken and follow the fellow! he told himself, silently battling his thoughts. And so he followed, obediently and silently stepping through the threshold that was the glossy mahogany door of 253 Willow Way.

He found himself in some sort of Hallway. The walls were made of stone, and the only light came from a single burning candle. The man, who he guessed must be Victor Thyme, lead him down the Hallway, pushing open a creaky wooden door.

Now he was in a biger room, some sort of sitting room. The carpet was black, and the walls a dark green. Upon one of the walls, there was a pucture of a nun. Her skin was an ashy grey, and her head covered in a black cloak. Her eyes were dull and sunken. The picture was faded but he could still see the tears that stained her cheeks, still see the melancholy expression on her face.

"Sit down, lad, sit down."  
It was the man's voice again. Andrew shakily collapsed into one of the black chairs, Victor sitting opposite him.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Sir. I was looking for Hyde park and - "  
"You were looking for Hyde park, you say?" the man was looking right at him now, beedy black eyes boring straight into his.

"Yes, Sir," he responded politely, tone quiet and just slightly more timid than it usually came out. "It's embarrassing for an explorer to loose his barings, bt, well, there you are..."  
"An explorer?"  
"Yes, Sir," Andrew nodded, looking down at his cut hands.

"An explorer must know the ways of the world. Must be practised in the ways of the world. Would you say that you are practised, boy?"  
"Sir..." he was confused now, but he could tell hwere this was going. He was uncomortable now, nervously shifting his weight from his right foot to his left. He watched as the man approached a bookshelf, tracing several books with his hands as he began to murmur something about Gaishas and Japan. He was only half listening, as he could hear his heart pounding.  
Then, something caught his attention.

"I have them all here. Drawings of them. Everythin you've ever dreamed of doing..." he paused. "With a woman."  
His tone was accusing, dark.

"Would you like to see"  
"I think there's been some mistake," Andrew rose to leave. The man's icy gaze stopped him in his tracks.

"I think not," his voice was bitter, threatening. "You gandered at my ward, Belladonna! You gandered at her. Yes, Sir, you gandered!"  
"I meant no harm..." Andrew found himselff protesting, againt his better judgement.

"Your meaning to me is immaterial," the vial Victor snapped viciously at him. Now, he was only inches away fro the young man, their noses almost touching.

"I I see your face on this, or any other neigbouring street, you'll rue the day you were born..."

It was only after Andrew had been carelessly tossed out the door like last week''s rubbish that Victor noticed the beautiful, radiant creature he had the honour of calling his ward standing on the staircase. She looked frightened. Her breathtaking face was even paler than usual, and her ice-blue eyes wide as eyes can get. Her lower lip was trembling, she looked as though she were going to cry.

"F-Father..." her voice was timid and weak. He could tell that she knew what was going on, by the guilty look on her face. e rose, waking over to her.

"Belladonna. If I were to think you encouraged that young rogue - "  
"Oh, father," the young girl shook her head, luscious honeycomb curls bouncing with each elegant movement. "I hope always to be obedient to your commands."  
He found a gri spreading across his old face as he reached for her, his hand 'accdentally' brushing one of her succulant breasts as he reached for her cheek.

"Dear child..." his voice was low and raspy. "How sweet you look in that gown."

Belladonna gritted her teeth, fiercely fighting the urge to cry. She knew that brush had had been no accident. He was always touching her, caressing her, in a way that a father should never caress a daughter. She did realie that they were of no blood relation, but she still thought of him as her father, for he was the only fathery figure he had. She had been calling him father ever since she was old enough to utter the word. Father had been her very first word, but now she began to wonder how he truly viewed her. Did he realy see her as a daughter, or was there something else going through his mind?

"You heard what Mr. Thyme said," It was Alister, Victor's loya apprentice. He threw Andrew roughly to the ground, watching as the young man fell down the steps and crashed to the ground with a sickening thud. "Next time, we'll have your pretty little brains spread all over the pavement."  
With that, the large door slammed. Andrew was outside, and Belladonna was still trapped there with that tyrant. He felt the tears burning in his eyes, not just because of the extreme pain he was feeling right now, but because that poor girl, that could not have been anywhere over the age of siteen, was trapped in that house with those two monsters! He may be her Guardian, but he was certainly no angel.


	14. Chapter 14: Emma

_This chapter is for my dearest Emma._

He coughed and spluttered as he was roughly escorted out of the huge mansion. He gazed up at her window once more, a soft smile creeping across his face. He had a name for her, a beautiful name to place with a beautiful face.

Belladonna.

It was more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.

It was then that he elt a presence, eyes on the back of his head. He quickly spun around, only to see a young girl standing before him. Like his beautiful Bella - Bella was beautiful in Italian, and Belladonna was most definitely beautiful - she could not have been more than fifteen years of age. She had short brown hair, slighty messy, kept in place with a small rose-pink headbannd. He noticed a rucksack slung over her back, a black one with pink butterflies and bleeding red hearts on it. Who was she?  
"You're wasting your time, you know," her voice was soft and gentle, but it had a rough edge. "Victor wont let you near her."  
"Who are you?" curiosity got the better of him, and he couldn't help asking.

"Emma. Emma Pennington. You new around here?"  
Andrew nodded shakily. "An explorer, just off the Bountiful of Plymoth."  
"The ship that sunk last month?"  
He nodded solemnly. "I'm one of the only survivors.

"Wow! Cool!" this seemed to excite the young girl. "I wish my life was that exciting."  
A dry chuckle escaped his cracked lips. "I'd hardly call it eciting. What do you do all day?"  
"School."  
"Oh..."  
"Today should be interesting though! There's this new teacher, apparently, and he''s meant to be really strange."  
"what's his name?"

"My name is Todd. Stephen Todd."  
His pale hand glided gracefully through the air, the chalk dancing between his fingers as his name was written upon the dusty old blackboard. St. Mariana's was a very old-fashioned school: no interactive whiteboards, no red pens, no markers. Thise were the rules.

Emma sat in the second row from the back, her usual seat. Not completely in the back - the back row meant trouble, and was always watched - but just far enough away from the front to stay uder the radar. She'd pciked up little tricks like that as she went along. As suspected, Stephen did not notice her.

But she noticd him.

There was somethong odd about him, not quite right. A strange familiarity. She had seen him before, she just could not work out where. Had he taught here before? No, she would remember a name as distinctive as Stephen Todd. Stephen Todd definitely had not taught here before, she had to have known him fro somewhere else, she decided.

The class was actually rather interesting. He gave a lecture on 'the master of Horror', Edgar Allan Poe, who was in his and Emma's mind a genius known bst or being an expert at creating the intense atmosphere of poetic dread. She woshipped Poe with a passion, and it seemed as though Stephen did, too. There was something she liked about him, there was something different and refreshing about this teacher. But he seemed so dark, so sullen, so far away. There was something about him, something...odd...


End file.
